An Exercise in Tact
by KnightFury
Summary: Holmes always tries to be tactful, but there are days that warrant more care than usual. This story is set in the February of 2105, in the late winter following the reunion between Holmes and Watson.


_**An extra little something for I'm Nova, as I know that you like this sort of thing. Many happy returns, my dear!**_

Watson is in the washroom (I can hear the water running and the only other person in the house is our robotic friend, who only ever goes in there to clean and tidy) and it is still dark out. The hour must still be early - too early for me to rise - and I cannot tell what it is that has woken me. My companion is no doubt readying himself for a long day at St Barts, but he often is, in the early morning, and I usually am not disturbed. I remain where I am, snug as I can be in my bed, while the rain hurls itself at my window like a vengeful beast, desperate to gain entry. What a miserable morning!

I hear the (training) doctor sneeze once and stir myself slightly, now realising the reason for my waking so early on a dark February morning (I never can ignore the signs that my dear friend is unwell - have been unable to do so from the very beginning) and find myself wondering for a moment, as I always do, whether I should rouse myself after all. But John the robot is no doubt up already and will tend to our friend, should he need it. Fussing over Watson will only antagonise him, anyway - I know that well enough, by now - it is best to wait for him to admit to feeling unwell. If unwell he is. Why will a single sneeze from my companion of old fill me with such unwarranted concern?

Without moving an inch, I listen intently while my Boswell finishes washing and dressing before moving to the sitting room.

"Good morning, Watson," chirps the compudroid. "How are you?"

"Good morning, John," I hear him respond with a voice that does not sound quite right. "I am all right. How are you?"

He snorts. "I am a robot - I am never unwell. We never are, if we avoid possible malware, use a good antiviral program and have services regularly. You know that."

Watson clears his throat. "I was trying to be polite. Now, you are clearly irritable - it does not take Holmes to notice that."

"You are unwell and I am going to have a fight on my hands. Of course I am not happy!"

Oh, John! A little tact might help the situation. Should I get up?

"I am not unwell," my Boswell immediately argues. "I am fit as a fiddle, I assure you. Now, are you going provide me with breakfast, or will I have to go off to college with an empty stomach?"

I feel (somewhat) reassured - he is hungry, this morning; clearly, he has nothing severe and I need not fret.

"Were you tending to patients," John attempts to reason, "the cold that I can hear in your voice would do them no good at all."

"Were I tending to patients, I would contact my place of work, as per my training, and inform them that I would appear to have caught something infectious," I hear him retort. "As it stands, I have a course to complete and will fall behind if I do not attend. I am still sharp and I feel quite well enough to work; further-more, I cannot afford to take a day off."

John sighs. "Very well; I shall say no more. At least permit me to drive you to work - a long walk in the rain will do you no - "

" - Huh-hushch!"

"Oh! Bless you! A long walk in the rain would do you no good at all."

Watson quietly blows his nose. "I could go by taxi."

"I would much prefer to know that you have arrived safely," the robot says. "If you would be so kind as to let me drive you, it would put my mind at rest."

"I should like some breakfast," I hear my Boswell grumble.

John grumbles in response and then his footsteps make their way to the head of the stairs and down.

I hear no more, tired as I am. Briar cuddles my feet with a contented sigh and I find myself compelled to settle in turn.

When I next awake, John is calling to me. It is still very dark out and rain is still battering at my bedroom window. I shudder at the sound and pull on my dressing gown and thrust my feet into my slippers as I rise.

"Come, Briar; John will no doubt want to take you for your morning constitutional."

The English Setter groans and sits up with a tremendous yawn.

"Come," I repeat with a quick beckon of my head.

The dog shakes his speckled coat and then leaps from the foot of my bed. I suspect that this has more to do with the scent of ham and eggs than obedience on his part. He still has much to learn, but he only came to live with us a few months ago.

My day is not uneventful, but, never-the-less, I cannot stop thinking of my poor Watson and hoping that he is all right. I spend the morning chasing down a gang of vintage car thieves, alongside Inspector Beth Lestrade, who - it turns out when we finally catch up with them - are also a gang of drug smugglers (they conceal the packages in the tyres of the vehicles). Now I feel a little less irked about having taken so long to locate and capture them, even if it has taken the best part of a fortnight, as we have been after the drug smugglers separately, little dreaming that the gangs could be one and the same. Lestrade is clearly rather pleased (and surprised), as well. I have the swiftness of mind, however, to sound as if I have at least suspected it all along (I have my pride - and my reputation to consider).

The afternoon I spend at dog training with Briar. Before I can train him in tracking, I need to have complete control over the dog, so I take him to agility classes. I must admit that I enjoy this much more than I expected to - it is fun and it gives the dog a perfect opportunity to show off, which he would appear to be all in favour of.

"He's a fast learner, Mr. Holmes," says Mr. Pettett, who is in charge of the activities and courses here, as he shakes me by the hand. "I don't think I ever saw a rescue take so much notice of a new owner so fast - that's devotion, that is."

I shrug. "I have always been around dogs. I grew up with working dogs and I worked with tracking dogs during cases."

"That probably has a lot to do with it, yes, but the dog still has to want to listen to you. You said before that he got used to his new name very quickly, too, didn't you?"

"Yes, in about a day."

"That's unheard of! If I hadn't met you so soon after you took him on - and if I hadn't come to know you so well, of course - I'd think you were lying."

I never fib! I will, if necessary, stretch or bend the truth, but that is entirely different. Besides, an entirely truthful detective will find it rather difficult to get results. I simply thank Mr. Pettett, pay the monthly fee and tell him that he shall be seeing us the following week.

We are about to leave the barn, in which the training sessions are held, when I realise that the rain is once again coming down in sheets. With a groan, I pull down the flaps of my deerstalker, wishing that I had had the sense to bring an umbrella.

"If you don't mind advertising my little business, Mr. Holmes, you can have one of my golf umbrellas," Pettett offers, handing me a large, russet and black umbrella with a greyhound's head for a handle. "I know they're a bit big, but it'll keep you nice and dry."

I thank him for his kindness and open it out. The black panels sport the logo of his dog training business, with the words 'Agility, Obedience and Tracking' beneath it and the website address beneath that. Oh, well; it is better than going without. I settle Briar in the footwell of the front passenger seat of the car and then take my position at the wheel, tossing my new umbrella into the back, close to hand, before I strap myself in and take to the air.

As we approach London, I once again find myself thinking of my Boswell. I very much doubt that he would call a taxi and I could not imagine him taking one of the newfangled flying omnibuses home, either. He is most likely going to walk home, seeing as I have the car (not that he can drive it anyway).

"Let us collect Watson," I announce to the dog as I alter course. "I expect he would be glad of a lift, tonight."

Watson is just leaving when I pull up. He looks weary and less than thrilled by the prospect of walking home in the rain. Hastily, I snatch up the umbrella and rush out to meet the dear chap just as he is descending the last of the front steps.

My friend of old gives a start when I take to his side, thrusting my umbrella over his head. He looks up and then smiles. "Holmes! What are you doing here?"

I chuckle. "Knowing you as I do, I thought that you were probably going to walk home. Where is your umbrella?"

His smile fades and he shrugs his shoulders with a quiet sniff. "I think a fellow student must have mistakenly taken it."

"Humph! The rain it raineth 'pon the just and the unjust fella," I recite with a frown.

He nods, his eyes telling me that he is trying his utmost to follow me. "Well, yes -"

"But chiefly upon the just, because," I continue, with one finger raised, "the unjust steals the just's umbrella." This said, I offer him a small smile.

"Oh, Holmes! Really! I did not say that anyone stole it."

I merely shrug. To me, it is obvious that somebody looked at the weather and decided that he would pinch an umbrella from a student that had had the audacity to be more prepared than he. I choose to remain silent, as I suspect that Watson would rather not think that a colleague of his might be a thief.

"I did not say that anyone did; I found that little poem online, somewhere, and found it amusing. Come, Watson; we should get out of this weather."

Though he is probably embarrassed by the attention, I stand beside his car door, holding the umbrella over us both, until he is safely inside. Only then do I take to the driving seat.

The drive home is quiet and uneventful. I permit the car to drive itself, so that I can chat with my friend (and keep a close eye on him, for he is very quiet and weary).

By the time that we have reached Baker Street, Watson is almost asleep. What to do - should I leave him and take Briar in, or leave the dog in favour of my Boswell?

"Watson?"

The poor chap gives a start.

"My apologies, my dear friend. Would you like to take the umbrella and go on inside? I shall follow with the dog."

He coughs into his fist. "If you do not mind. Thank you, Holmes."

Despite my having parked just in front of the house, Briar and I are both almost drenched, by the time we enter the house. Confounded weather! I shrug off my Inverness, kick off my boots and remove my deerstalker in the vestibule, hanging the dripping coat there and depositing the wet and muddy boots on the rack in the hall.

John is in the hall with a towel for me and some rags with which to dry Briar. He advises me to go up to the sitting room, where I shall find a warming drink waiting - and a blaze in the hearth. I politely thank him and heed the advice with gratitude.

Watson has already helped himself to tea and whisky, when I enter the sitting room. He has positioned his chair closer to the fire and his legs are stretched out before it, so as to make the most of the warmth. Without a word, I pour my own drink (also adding a dose of whisky, in the hope that I might avoid catching cold myself) and take to my chair in turn, opposite that of my dear friend.

"Well, Watson, I have told you of my day," I say after ten minutes of silence (not that I believe that he heard a word of my chatter, while we were driving home). "How went your day?"

He shrugs with a rather miserable-sounding sniffle. "As well as could be expected, I suppose."

"Do you know, Watson, that I have not mentioned your obvious ill health because I thought that you might not appreciate it."

"Then you have more tact than the robot and more kindness than the staff at St. Barts."

Ah! I think I see what is wrong. "You have been treated unfairly? You know that I would defend you in an instant! Why did you not tell me?"

"I have not received any treatment that differed in any way to the treatment received by my fellow students," says he. "But that it was unpleasant is undeniable - most of us have colds, yet we were all expected to be on our very top form and were scolded for any mistake. Naturally, I often answer incorrectly when I am well, as the knowledge that I draw from is out of date and..."

I stand, setting aside my cup and saucer, and pat his shoulder as I come to his side. "The reason that you are attending college is to learn, my dear fellow - and learn you shall. You simply do better when you are not put on the spot (as do most people - it is quite normal)."

"You could have done better than I did today."

I snort. "So would you, were you not unwell and finding concentration difficult. Watson, have an early night, tonight, and have a day or two off."

"I cannot afford to do so!"

"Poppycock!" I argue, as he begins to cough. "You would tell me that venturing forth while less than hale would set my recovery back dreadfully - you know that you would!"

He nods, still coughing, though I can see that he should like to respond.

I wait for him to speak, for I would prefer not to upset him further.

Eventually, he subsides and attempts to clear his throat. "Yes, you are right. Of course. But there is such little leeway allowed for illness that I cannot afford to take a day off for something so trivial as a cold."

"John can help you to study at home," I insist. "You know that he would enjoy the company."

Eventually, I make him agree with me. Good! With a self-satisfied smile, I pour us each a fresh cup of tea.

"Aside from your bad day, how are you?"

He takes his cup and saucer gratefully. "All right, really. You really need not trouble yourself - I have come through many colds before, Holmes."

I shrug. "Do you remember, when you were first returned to me, that you remarked that you would have thought that one lonely existence would have been quite enough, even for me?"

"I spoke out of turn. If I did not apologise, I certainly should have done so."

"Perhaps. But you were right, never-the-less. Furthermore, Watson, though I might have always prided myself in my outward illusion of... of... of a cold, heartless, automaton of a man, this was only my way of protecting myself - I always did feel and care."

"Yes, I know. Holmes, I truly am sorry if you feel that you must tell me that you care for me. You have provided me with evidence enough, I assure you."

I dismiss the apology with a flick of my fingers. "Quite all right. I should think that it is a difficult idea to become accustomed to."

"Holmes..."

I offer him a smile. "It is all right," I insist.

Before time has been allowed for John to have fed Briar and come up to join us, Watson is fighting sleep. He is always quick to fatigue, when he is ill, and I know that well enough. With a little gentle encouragement, I persuade him to take to the settee and then swathe him with our warmest rugs.

"Thank you."

I pat his hand and grimace. It is cold. "My pleasure, my dear chap. Is there anything else that you require? Lozenges? Something for your head?"

"I just want to rest my eyes, for a moment," says he. "I shall be all right - we have both been immunised against influenza; I really should be over the worst of this by Friday."

I nod and pat his shoulder, having slipped his hands beneath the folds of the rugs. "Quite so. Rest then. I shall ask John to postpone our dinner, if you would prefer."

When John does come up, dog in tow, our friend is snoring from beneath his rugs.

"Poor Watson," remarks the robot as he crouches close to his side. "I do wish that he had stayed indoors, today."

I assure him that he has promised to study at home, tomorrow, if John will be so good as to assist him in his studies.

"I would be glad to!" he chirps softly. "Perhaps St. Barts would allow me to go in with him - I have the knowledge, but Watson has the capacity to understand that knowledge better than I do - we could each learn from the other."

What a team they could make! I say nothing (the decision is not mine to make), but I do believe that Watson would like the idea.


End file.
